You Are My Music
by Feline Alchemist
Summary: Arthur wakes to find the bed empty, and upon further investigation, discovers Alfred playing the guitar, and he is shocked at what he hears. It's a bit angsty, but it gets quite fluffy! Human and Country names used, cuz I can't make up my mind


**A/N:** Here I am again ^^ Not much to say here, just that it's 5 am here so forgive any mistakes~

Stubborn lances of sunlight pierced the dim shroud of the bedroom as heavy lids lifted to reveal sleep-laden emerald eyes. England fluttered his eyelids shut, fighting in vein the sun's attempts to rouse him. Realizing his efforts were futile, he let out a tired grown and rolled over, pausing in confusion. Where there _should_ have been a broad-shouldered, thick-headed, sweet-and-cuddly-still-snoring-away American was an empty expanse of rumpled sheets and kicked-back blankets.

England sat up, running a hand through his disheveled locks and brow wrinkling in thought. He nearly always roused before America, falling victim to the exception only when his favorite fast food vendors stopped serving breakfast after 11 am. The Brit's thoughts jumbled further when he spotted Texas sitting on Alfred's bedside table, right where they had been abandoned last night. Well, he surely couldn't _drive _without his glasses, and he wasn't really the type to walk places when he could just as easily take a vehicle.

England was just about to start worrying when he heard an unfamiliar sound drift into the bedroom from the hallway. _Was that…Music? _Quite curious by this point, Arthur got out of bed and bent to retrieve his pajamas from where they had been discarded and forgotten in the heat of the night before and slipped them on, quietly slinking out of the room.

Sure enough, as soon as he rounded the corner he heard it again. The soft twang of an acoustic guitar was most definitely coming from somewhere in the house. England crept along, determined to discover the source of the faint plucking. He turned down another hallway and immediately noticed the last door on the right hanging ajar, the warm, morning light spilling out of the doorway.

That room was shaping up to be the guilty suspect in the case of the mysterious music, so he tip-toed further into the corridor until he was silently leaning against the doorframe. What he saw fascinated him. There was America, _his _Alfred, seated in a swivel chair facing the door, his attention completely captured by a cream colored acoustic guitar lying in his arms. As he had crept closer to the room the song, for England quickly realized that the notes he was hearing were not random, had picked up its pace. England didn't dare make a sound, afraid to break the peaceful bubble enclosing Alfred as his fingers maneuvered gracefully across the strings, like valiant heroes releasing a million songbirds from six string cages. He could only gape as the tranquil melody gushed forth, drenching the entire room in pure, amber bliss.

The Brit simply couldn't believe his eyes, nor his ears, for that matter. Throughout the centuries he had known, loved the American, he had never been one for concentration, often abandoning a fleeting idea for a more exciting one when it arose. Learning to play a complex instrument so beautifully certainly required the patience of a saint, something Arthur _knew _Alfred did not possess. Yet there he was, hands moving in a flurry around the instrument, a serene look in his face, disturbed only by the tinge of utter determination pulling his eyebrows together above his closed eyes as the music flowed.

He took a moment to just close his eyes and listen to the tones of Alfred's creation, drifting into his mind and gently pulling at his emotions. The tune seemed almost sad, many notes being stretched and bent low, devoid of more up-beat ones for short stints. The melancholy was not permanent, though, as the song shifted to a more dedicated light, strong, loud notes rising above the softer ones, as if to tell them that everything was alright, that they didn't have to be sad.

A hollow pang of sorrow struck Arthur's heart at the sound, the peaceful music dredging up unwanted memories from the deepest recesses of his mind, ones he would rather die over than hear again, spoken by the one he loved most in this or any other world. That is exactly what the song sounded like. Freedom. There really was no mistaking it, the metaphor now painfully obvious in the seemingly innocent sounds. As much as he had wanted to Arthur couldn't stop the smallest of tears form in the corners of his eyes, growing more and more as each note reached his heart. He knew that the sorrow in the song was caused by his own hand, a mistake of their pasts that could never be completely forgotten or forgiven, and it killed him inside. He thought he had shown America how sorry he was by then, broken down in front of him more times than he'd like to ever admit. The persistent sorrow of the song, always cutting short the confident notes, told him that no, he hadn't. America still felt that pain, the anger, the sadness towards him that had never really gone away, England knew. It was as if the song were a war between pain and freedom, and the sorrow always drowned out the latter when it got its chance to shine.

England couldn't take it any longer, and a choked sob escaped his throat as the tears finally fell, rolling down trembling cheeks. The strumming stopped as did England's heart did, and he snapped his head up from where he was pleading with the floor to not let Alfred hear him. The floorboards were merciless, for his pleas went unanswered as Alfred stared at his crying lover. Arthur, even in his despair, couldn't miss the flash of fear mingled with surprise in Alfred's eyes.

"A-Artie… Hey I didn't know you were- Arthur? Why are you crying?" The American hastily set the guitar down and leaned it against the wall, rising from his seat and wrapping the Briton in his arms comfortingly. He rubbed soothing circles into Arthur's back as he collapsed into his arms, more sobs betraying England's prickly outward demeanor, revealing the tightly guarded, insecure center.

"Shhhh babe, it's alright. Just tell me what's wrong." Alfred struggled to keep the worry out of his voice as Arthur continued to shudder, his body wracked with emotions hidden to him. After a painfully long pause, cut short here and there by England's soft sniffling, he finally spoke.

"You never told me you could play the guitar you lousy git."

Alfred was a bit taken aback, expecting England to answer his question and being disappointed. "Well, I guess it never came up…? No one ever believes I'm smart enough to master an instrument, so I guess I kinda got used to hiding it." He gently pulled England's thin form away from his chest so he could look him in the eyes. "But that still doesn't explain why you're upset. So spill it." He playfully prodded England's cheek, willing the Brit to open up to him.

England scowled and brushed the American's hand away, eyes drifting to the merciless floorboards in his failed attempt at composure. "That song… It's so sad… Brought up bad memories, I suppose. Tell me Alfred, and tell me honestly. Do… Do you, really love me?" As soon as the words left his mouth England mentally slapped himself. Sure he did… That song just made his mind go somewhere that he hadn't been in a long while, and it simply startled him. Although… what was that sinking feeling in his stomach, the one that suddenly set up camp and refused to leave?

Arthur was thoroughly surprised when Alfred didn't laugh at him for his weakness, or reply with anger. Alfred stared into Arthur's eyes, melting sky blue with emerald green as he spoke four words with such determination and faith that England was caught breathless.

"Of course I do."

All of England's effort to stop his tearful blubbering went out the window at that, and he crumpled into Alfred's embrace once more, tears staining his cheeks for the second time. Alfred only hugged him tighter, running a hand soothingly through Arthur's bed-head hair, nuzzling his nose into the smaller man's crown.

"Hey hey, c'mon, you're breakin my heart here Artie… Please, talk to me. Why would you ever, _ever _think that I don't love you?"

"I just… That song… It's like I was reliving it, that day, the day you left me." Alfred stiffened at that, but allowed Arthur to continue. "I know I know, we're past that, but… The sorrow, the _pain_ in those notes made me see doubt. It's like you were saying how much you're still hurting, and it tears me up inside because I know it was all my fault… I never should have suffocated you like that. I guess… I felt like I needed to apologize again to keep your love… Gah I bloody don't know what came over me…" His eyes once again were drawn downwards, not wanting to risk seeing a hurt expression in Alfred's eyes.

Alfred was stunned into silence. He had no idea that England was listening to him, first of all, and he was quite surprised that Arthur put all of that together so quickly, and correctly too. He drew in a deep breath and gently lifted Arthur's face with both hands, forcing him to look at him.

"Arthur. Listen. I couldn't love you more if I tried. Sure, we've had some pretty bad patches of history, but who doesn't? All you need to worry about is that that is in the past, and Alfred F. Jones is head-over-heels in love with Arthur Kirkland, and always will be. You are the reason that I wake up every morning, and without you constantly insulting my eating habits or my accent, calling me weird nicknames and cuddling up to me for no reason at all, I wouldn't be able to keep going. I _need _you to know that Artie. Can I trust you to never forget?"

Even more tears spilled over Arthur's cheeks as he slowly nodded, breaking free of Alfred's hold on his face to hug him once more, but with more force than ever. He buried his face into Alfred's pajama shirt, a simple cotton tee with the Superman logo printed on it, and inhaled, filling his lungs with Alfred's smell, his being, his love, never wanting to let go.

"Why did you wake up so early just to play a depressing song anyway you wanker?" England asked playfully, curiosity returning as the emotional weight was gradually lifted from his heart.

"Well… It's just a little something I've been working on for a while now, and I was adding something to it. I was gonna surprise you, jerk. On your birthday." At England's confused expression America realized he had to elaborate. "I mean, I wasn't finished with the song yet when you walked in. Here, just listen." At that Alfred bent down and picked up the guitar and motioned for Arthur to sit in the swivel chair while he himself attached a strap and stood before him. England watched on in confusion as Alfred began to play. The sorrowful notes returned, still stifling the more confident ones. Then, just as the Brit began to question how this part of the song was any different from the previous one, the sadness dwindled, giving rise to the loud, powerful notes of Alfred's freedom, accompanied by a softer, frequent strum, alternating between the two skillfully. An image bloomed in England's mind, of a strong, determined individual walking hand in hand with a smaller, less boisterous but just as proud one, walking into the hopeful sunset that was Alfred's music, the notes matching miraculously like the best of friends, like lovers.

England, being the rather intelligent bloke that he was, didn't need any hints to tell him that the proud notes represented Alfred, and the softer ones were himself, meshing perfectly with the love of his life. As the song came to a close, filling the room with a much needed happy atmosphere, England mentally slapped himself for what must have been the third time in fifteen minutes, tears rolling freely once again, but this time from pure happiness. Alfred opened his eyes and stared at Arthur, expression drooping as he saw that his beloved was _still _crying.

"Babe, what's wrong now? Please don't cry…" He sluggishly removed the guitar from where it hung on his shoulder and set it back down, looking close to tears himself.

"Oh, come here you." This time it was his turn to be the comforter, and he pulled Alfred into a warm embrace, whispering into his ear, "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard, you insufferable git. I love you, so, so much."

Alfred smiled in relief, glad that his Arthur wasn't hurting anymore and whispered back, "I love you too Artie, and don't you forget it." Alfred pulled away just long enough to capture the Brit's lips in a passionate kiss, each of them just savoring the taste of each other and the warmth in each other's hearts.

**A/N:** Please do **review**~


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